


Silver and Steel

by traumschwinge



Series: Xavierine Witcher AU [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Assassination Plot(s), F/M, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Multi, Regicide, Scheming, The Witcher 2 Spoilers, The Witcher 2: Assassins of Kings, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: Logan really thought his life was finally looking up. He had everything he could dream of—regular meals, small comforts, and a sorceress in his bed—and a job to do. But when the king he serves is murdered by another witcher, it all falls apart...
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Jean Grey/Logan (X-Men), Logan (X-Men)/Charles Xavier
Series: Xavierine Witcher AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885921
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	1. Hiring of the Assassin of Kings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gerec](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerec/gifts).



> 1) Endgame is Charles/Logan, but that won't happen until I've finished the Witcher 3 fic set after this  
> 2) I ship exactly three pairings in the Witcher enough to consider writing them and none of them are straight. Please adjust your expectations away from a retelling of how Geralt and Yennefer settle down together.  
> 3) There will be blood.  
> 4) Charles is a scheming, lying, ruthless, bastard and his role in this has been handed out accordingly.  
> 5) My game lore knowledge is good, but I've never read the books nor do I intend to. Plot nudged and tweaked where I felt like it.

The small tavern stood in a tiny border town. Only few patrons were in yet, most of the regulars arriving only after the sun set around this time of year. In a dark corner of the tavern, six men were gathered around a table. One stood, one sat, four tried so hard to affect nonchalance that it was painfully obvious they were guarding the sitting man. 

Charles looked the witcher he’d been presented with up and down. The two swords were the first thing he’d noticed. They made his guards nervous. Nervous guards weren’t good. Nervous guards tended to stab first and then ask questions. Questions like ‘was it wise to attack the armed man with better training and better skill?’. Charles subtly projected calm to his guard. The witcher wouldn’t hurt him. It’d mean he wouldn’t get paid.

The second thing Charles noted was the medallion resting against the witcher’s broad chest. Two intertwined snakes, symbol of the school of the Viper. Sure, the man was wearing heavy leathers and enough weapons to outfit a small troop of men. But that medallion was as much a warning of his abilities as the cat like eyes.

Charles nodded. This witcher would do. 

“I am certain that you’re aware why I called for you, master witcher,” he said. “So, I propose we skip right to the point: will you ...take the contract?”

“Witchers are meant to be neutral,” the witcher said. He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Neutrality doesn’t keep me fed. Sure I’ll take it. The offer was generous enough. So, who you want me to kill?”

“Some men,” Charles said. 

“Yeah, I got that.” The witcher rolled his eyes. “Who? For that price, one’d kill the Emperor.”

Charles kept his face neutral. Good to know what the witcher’s price would be. Not that he was feeling suicidal. It was merely good to know. “Not the Emperor,” he said. “Kings.”

The witcher whistled. “Kings,” he repeated. “Any specific kings or just any king I find?”

“You really think I’d pay this much money without a plan?”

“Not really. Let’s hear it, then.” The witcher made a step forward. It caused Charles’ guard to twitch for their weapons. He held up his hand to signal them to let the witcher approach. The witcher sat down next to him at the table. “What’s the grand plan?”

Charles studied the witcher’s face. He needed him. None of his spies or assassins were as capable as any witcher. And this one had a reputation. But all of that did not mean he trusted the man. Still, he should throw the witcher a bone. He didn’t need the whole plan. The parts that concerned the witcher… well, those were fine to share. It wouldn’t even help the witcher if he wanted to sell the information to Charles’ enemies. That the world would look a lot simpler for Charles if certain kings met an untimely end didn’t need a genius to work out. 

“Simple.” Charles steepled his hands. He looked the witcher directly in his eerie eyes. “I want you to kill King Sebastian for me. Cut off his head. Then, you will meet with my agent at this location.” He slid a small piece of parchment over to the witcher. “Bring the head.”

The witcher picked up the parchment. Charles watched him study the map drawn on it. “King Sebastian, huh?” The witcher’s face didn’t betray any emotion but his hand twitched towards one of the daggers strapped to his thigh. “Any pointers?”

Eager, Charles decided. This witcher was actually eager to commit regicide. So long as he waited until they’d parted ways, Charles was fine with that. “A ship on the Pontar,” Charles informed his soon-to-be assassin. “There might be a mage with him, but I’m sure you’ll manage.” He gestured to the captain of his guard. A small crystal tube, capped on both ends with engraved silver, was handed to him. He rolled it over the table to the witcher. “This will help, no doubt. Break it when you board the ship.”

The witcher let the crystal tube disappear in one of his pockets with surprising speed. “I’d rather have an advance on my payment.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “You’ll receive half from my agent when you bring him the first head.”

“About that,” the witcher said. He had pulled the dagger free and was fiddling with it. Charles’ guard was watching him like they meant to jump him. “Who’s second?”

Charles waved his hand. “Unimportant, until you’ve disposed of King Sebastian.”

“Fuck me.” The witcher leaned back. He pushed his free hand through his dark blond hair. “One question, though. You’re not going to ask me to actually kill the Emperor of Nilfgaard, are you? Because…” He cast a look around the tap room as if he expected Charles to have his spies everywhere. It wasn’t close to being true. But Charles was only too happy people actually believed it. It had been hard work to get to the point where people considered him omniscient. He’d like to keep that rumor.

“Because?” Charles coaxed.

The witcher swallowed, looking back at Charles. “I’m not sure even a witcher could do that and live. If he’d manage to kill the Emperor, that is. Which might be impossible. There are stories.”

“Stories?” Charles laughed. “And here I thought witchers weren’t afraid of anything. You’re afraid of the Emperor because of stories?”

“They say he’s made the Usurper of his throne kill himself. Slowly. Painfully.”

Charles had to consciously shut out the memories welling up in his guards’ minds. He didn’t have to relive that moment through yet another’s eyes. “Possibly true,” Charles allowed. “I can put you at ease. I will not require you to kill the Emperor of Nilfgaard. It will be another king of another Northern country. That is all.”

The witcher stood. “Slim information.” He put the dagger away and rolled his shoulders. “But I’ve worked with less. Two weeks.”

Charles inclined his head. “I’ll hold you to that, witcher.”

The witcher turned and walked away. Charles allowed him to take a few steps, before calling out, “Oh, and Erik? Here’s your advance.” He threw a small bag of coins at the witcher.

The witcher caught the bag as he whirled around, glaring daggers at Charles. “Just who the fuck are you to know that?” he growled.

“Your employer. Now leave.”


	2. The Assassination of King Sebastian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik does what he was hired for--Regicide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the graphic violence warning? This chapter is one of the reasons.

The sounds of a party wafted across the waters. The joyful, courtly, music being played on the ship right in the middle of the river was loud enough to be heard at the banks, even without the enhanced senses of a witcher. With them, it was easy to hear the shouts and laughter as well. Somebody fired a couple of clay spheres into the air over the river with a catapult. An archer shattered them all one after another, to the audible delight of those watching.

Erik rolled his eyes. The archer might have been good enough for a human, or to entertain a king, but his skill wasn’t that impressive to a witcher. At least he provided a distraction. Thanks to his show, less people were likely to notice Erik slip into the water.

His breath lasted the short distance through the river to the boat. He hadn’t even needed to down a potion beforehand. So far, this job looked surprisingly easy. He’d expected better of King Sebastian.

The hull of the ship was anything but smooth. Erik found handholds between each pair of planks. It couldn’t have been easier for any assassin to board the ship. Erik took a brief glance over the railing to make sure he wasn’t seen, before pulling himself over to hide behind a lifeboat. He snorted, driving the water he’d inhaled out of his nose.

The entertainment had moved on to a wrestling match in the time it’d taken Erik to reach the boat. He could feel the accompanying drums reverberate in his chest. A smirk forced itself on his face. The swelling of sound was almost poetic. Erik pulled the tube he’d been handed by his mysterious employer from his pocket. A magical bomb. Expensive, just like hiring a witcher ruthless enough for regicide.

Erik cast Quen around himself and twisted the ends of the tube to arm the bomb. He didn’t need to look where he was throwing it. When it hit the middle of the mast, Erik was already pulling two of his daggers free. He started running. King Sebastian’s court mage had managed to protect the King and a few soldiers from the bomb. It didn’t matter. Erik dodged the first soldier, drove the dagger in his left deep between the man’s shoulder blades. He wrenched it free, using the momentum to whirl around, slicing through the second soldier’s throat with his right hand dagger in the same motion he made to avoid an arrow. He lost his left hand dagger in the archer’s chest, but that didn’t matter. The court mage was summoning a spell, so Erik grabbed one of the dying soldiers to use as a shield. Flames were licking over the corpse as Erik shoved it at the mage, ducking around it. He brought his dagger up before the mage could even think of another spell. Blood went flying as Erik sliced through his throat as well.

Erik smirked.

Only King Sebastian was left now. The King backed away from him. Horror widened his eyes, forced his mouth open in a soundless speech. He took precious seconds to realize he should be running. He tried. Scrambling up the side of the cabin would have been hard for a man in much of a better shape. It was a testament to the King’s dread that he not only managed to reach the upper edge, but also tried to pull himself up. Erik wasn’t having it. He grabbed King Sebastian by his collar. He wasn’t gentle as he pushed the King to his knees, facing away from Erik. His free hand held the head in place. Erik raised his hand. His dagger hacked through King Sebastian’s neck in two heavy blows. His corpse fell away, but the head remained in Erik’s grip.

With a thin rope, Erik secured the head to his belt like the trophy it was. He needed to get off the ship. Not only would reinforcements be likely to come looking soon, thanks to the bomb, the ship was slowly breaking apart and sinking. Erik pulled himself up onto the cabin King Sebastian had tried to flee onto. He cast one last look around, before he took a running leap off the ship.


	3. The Assassination of King William Stryker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan had come to the attention of King William in Vizima and hired as a bodyguard to the King of Temeria. Life at court with the sorceress Jean was fine. But now King William has dragged them both away from Vizima to a siege over personal quarels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, SPOILERS for the Witcher 2: Assassin of Kings game. Obviously.

The day had started so well by Logan’s standards. He’d woken in a warm, reasonably soft bed next to a beautiful sorceress. Naked and content, which was more than a small bonus. Not even the commotion outside their tent could deter Logan’s good mood. He should get up, he really should, but in his first waking moments he couldn’t be bothered.

Instead, he buried his nose in Jean’s red hair and breathed in deeply. Let the soldiers outside be soldiers. He wouldn’t move until anyone came to fetch him.

“Logan.” Jean’s laugh tickled in his ear. “Logan, I don’t think we have time for this.” She might have said that, but she made no move to stop Logan’s hands from wandering over her body. Logan cupped one of her breasts with his hand. The way he saw it, they still had enough time for some quick fun before the actual battle.

He managed to roll on top of Jean before the noise outside got louder. With a growl, he sat up. “William’s coming for us.”

“Told you we didn’t have time.” One of the many, many upsides of being with a sorceress was that they never questioned Logan’s witcher senses. “He meant to launch his attack to break the siege just before noon.”

“Smart,” Logan hummed, pressing a kiss behind Jean’s ear. “Wonder who told him to attack from the south at noon.”

Jean slipped out of their bed, gloriously naked and confident. “A smart advisor, I’d assume.” Logan watched her as she got dressed. It took him a few moments to realize that he should put his armor on as well. King William was on his way and he would not suffer waiting for the one he very likely considered his pet witcher. Logan couldn’t complain about that role. It kept him fed, employed and in bed with Jean. Enduring the whims of a king was a small price compared. Even if it  **had** compromised his neutrality. He’d proven to himself he could still go back on the Path whenever he liked. Right now, he didn’t much want to.

The tent flap was pushed aside just when Logan shrugged his swords onto his back. King William strode in without missing a beat. He nodded at Jean, then Logan. Behind him, the commander of his elite Blue Stripes followed. She narrowed her eyes at Logan and Jean but didn’t say anything.

“Witcher!” King William boomed, spreading his arms in greeting. Logan waited for any indication of what the King expected of him. King William wouldn’t acknowledge anything he said or did anyway, not when he had made up his mind on what was about to happen. “Follow me to the siege engines.”

Logan looked at the Blue Stripes commander briefly, but when she shrugged, he inclined his head. “Of course.”

King William was exceedingly proud of the siege engines of his army. None dared to interrupt the sovereign King of Temeria, so he could ramble on for hours about ballistas and trebuchets, rams and siege towers. And he frequently did, in great detail, especially when it came to the ideal use and newest technical changes. Logan tended to tune him out after the first few sentences.

the King led their small group up on a hill overlooking the castle he was laying siege to. Ballistas were aiming for the walls from it. Logan watched with curiosity as an engineer corrected the angle of a bolt as big as a tree trunk. They weren’t headed for the ballistas, though. King William was walking straight toward a fully manned siege tower. Just before they reached it, somebody handed him a sword.

“Sire, are you sure..” the Blue Stripes commander started but fell silent when King William raised his hand.

“I am quite sure,” the King snapped. “I will be part of the assault force. If it worries you that much that I wish to take back my own son myself, you can accompany me and the witcher.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t agreed to be part of any assault force. But he couldn’t walk away either. Soldiers usually considered walking away from a siege as desertion and would try to stop him.

“Sire.” The commander pressed her lips to a tight line. She eyed Logan again. “I’ll be right behind you. Witcher, lead the way.”

Resigned to his fate for the moment, Logan entered the siege tower. The inside was stuffy, dim and smelled of the much too many men inside the cramped space. Logan would have breathed through his mouth if he hadn’t thought he could taste the smell. Rocky ladders connected the floors of the tower. Logan climbed them followed closely by King William. He could feel the tower move. It swayed gently, shuddering every time one of the giant wheels rumbled over an unevenness of the ground.

The slow pace of the tower meant that even when Logan had finally reached the top, he still had to wait for a fight. Arrows drummed against wood, most bouncing off the tower’s hull uselessly. The soldiers around Logan were no nervous fresh recruits which was a small comfort. King William had to have planned to be with the assault force from the start, if he’d positioned experienced veterans at the top. Logan didn’t know much about warfare, but he knew people. The armies of the North were almost entirely more or less volunteered peasants. The men around him weren’t. He couldn’t even smell a trace of nervousness. That meant, since they were some of the very few with actual training and experience in being soldiers, the assault force had never meant to be fodder, bodies to throw at the enemy until either army surrendered.

“What are you thinking, witcher?” King William asked at Logan’s side.

“I think,” Logan said slowly, trying to figure out what the hell he was thinking. “That you mean to take the walls with less than a hundred men and that thanks to this siege tower, you’re likely to succeed. You, or your military advisors, think that none of the defenders on the wall are up for close combat. Or at the very least, that they stand no chance against professionals.”

“What makes you say that?”

Logan blinked at the Commander of the Blue Stripes. He couldn’t remember her ever deigning to address him directly. For months at court, he’d thought she considered him the current fancy of a stupid noble. But of course, she would know who he was, he realized a moment later. She was smart. She was a spy. She probably knew more about him than he himself could remember. And yet, he’d been allowed around her king, which had to mean she at least saw him as no immediate danger to her liege.

“I say that because I saw their armor yesterday.” Logan shrugged. “They’re all citizens, trying to defend their home. A few proper city guards sprinkled in between. But so few it makes me wonder if the Countess hasn’t given up on the city and pulled her forces back into the keep itself. If so…”

“Speak, witcher,” King William ordered.

“If so, you’ll have a hard time getting to her, or your son, sire.”

“Ah, but we won’t.” A sly smile spread across King William’s face. “In fact, we will enter the keep through the main gates. Because you, Master Witcher, will open them for us.”

Logan groaned. Of course, he was part of the plan. And he would do it. It was the path of least bloodshed. Of fucking course he would do it. The worst part was that the King had known and had played him. As always. That was why Logan stayed away from nobility. They were always playing some inane game with the people around them. A pang in his chest and the whisper of a memory followed the thought. The memories were getting clearer, but he still couldn’t grasp them.

Right now, he didn’t have time to focus on it anyway. The assault force’s captain was shouting orders. The tower rumbled to a halt. Wood crashed against stone. Logan unsheathed his steel sword. It was time for the fight.

~~~

Getting the defenders on the walls and the rest of the city to surrender was laughably easy. The biggest obstacles had been a ballista down in a square aimed at the walls by the defenders themselves, which Logan easily took over for King William’s forces, and the noble commanding the defenders, who was related to the King by blood so Logan let the poor fool off by smacking the flat of his blade on the young man’s ass instead of killing him in their brief duel. The general populace of the city didn’t appear to care much either way as long as they got away with their life and maybe their houses still habitable if possible, thank you kindly. Since King William had no quarrel with them, most soldiers left the people be. Logan still broke an officer’s arm for attacking civilians, but it being only one was a positive in his book.

The keep itself was located up on a hill above the city. Logan followed the King and his Blue Stripes commander up the path, occasionally deflecting blows or crossbow bolts aimed at their group by some straggler that hadn’t heard of the surrender yet. King William stopped just outside the range of the archers and arbalisters guarding the keep’s main gate. While he called out to the soldiers and demanded to be let in, the Blue Stripes commander took Logan a step aside.

“See that ledge over there?” She pointed at where the walls of the city met the hill. It was a sheer rock face on top of which the keep’s walls towered, but Logan could see the ledge she meant. “Leads over to a bit of wall that’s been neglected lately. One sufficiently determined man could easily climb up there and stand in an usually completely unguarded garden.”

“Only that as soon as he’d leave the garden, there’d be pissed guards everywhere.” Logan flexed his fingers. Climbing had never been his favorite, but he was more than capable of scaling that cliff and the wall above. “Yeah, yeah, I understand. Let the witcher open the gates from the inside. After a lot of angry men tried to poke holes into him…” He was already walking away, complaining under his breath even as he jumped to the first handhold. He didn’t stop complaining to himself as he climbed. His fingers protested from the strain. Dust from the rocks was getting in his nose. The ledge was too narrow to shimmy along after the first bend and thus forced him to climb again sooner than planned.

As he reached the top of the wall and dropped into the garden on the other side, he was slightly out of breath and sweating. The garden was as empty as promised. Likely the only opportunity to catch his breath, so Logan took it, before swallowing two potions and going on a search for the gate controls.

It was a good thing he’d had the presence of mind to down the potions. He was barely through the first door out of the garden when he encountered three soldiers. Two of them were dispatched quickly, but the third managed to get away and raise an alarm before Logan could knock him out with a blast of Aard. The damage was done, however. Logan had to fight his way through what felt like the entire guard of the main gates to get to the winch that let him, slowly, hoist up the portcullis. When the gates were finally open, he was covered in blood and sweat. His breath came in labored pants. He was glaring daggers at the Blue Stripes commander when she dared grinning at him.

King William didn’t waste his time with petty little problems like the remaining guard. He had soldiers to deal with that for him. Both Logan and the Blue Stripes commander had to block more than one blow aimed directly at their king. They found most of the keep’s nobility in a large, tall, hall, huddled together in groups and trying to protect their women and children. Logan sheathed his sword. He was not murdering women and children, not even for a king.

“Release my son,” King William ordered.

There was a hurried, hushed conversation between some of the nobles. Logan heard them discuss which of them was to talk to their King, before an old priest was shoved out of the throng. “Your Majesty, your son is not here,” the trembling man said. He crumbled under the King’s gaze. “The Duchess sent him to the solarium, in the tower.” He pointed a wavering finger at a door on the side of the hall. “Please, your Majesty, spare us.”

King William ignored the whimpering pleas. He strode past the priest to the door. The crowd parted like water before him. Nobody dared stand in the way of a king. Logan followed him, sure the King should not be left alone in the enemy’s keep. He also ignored the order to stay outside of the solarium. It earned him a dirty look from the Blue Stripes commander for his insubordination. Not that Logan cared. He’d rather earn the ire of her for insubordination to commands he wasn’t even bound by than getting King William killed by walking into a trap.

The solarium was bright. Plants kept the air moist and full of their smells. There were only two people in the room, Logan could hear no other heartbeats. He hung back when a monk stepped around one of the larger plants. A small boy clutched the monk’s coarse robe, fearful eyes flickering between Logan and King William. Logan turned his head aside when the King dropped to one knee, holding out his arms. Let the man have at least some privacy with his child.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Logan saw a movement. Suddenly, everything was going wrong. The monk had drawn a dagger and stormed at King William. The Prince was screaming, pushed aside. Logan moved, on instinct, his sword already drawn when he got between the monk and the King. He couldn’t block the knife, could only make it hit his shoulder instead of his chest. The monk glared at him from under his hood, amber cat eyes meeting amber cat eyes. A brief moment of shock was all it took for the other witcher to hit Logan square in the chest with a blast of Aard, making him stagger back just far enough for the other witcher to draw his steel sword.

“Run!” Logan yelled, not sure if he meant King or Prince. He brought his sword up to block, turning to take a swing of his own, only for his sword to bounce uselessly off a Quen shield. He tried Aard himself, only for his opponent to roll out of the way. He saw him cast Axii, but couldn’t stop him in time. Their swords clashed again, again, again, interrupted by turns and weaves. Logan couldn’t remember when he’d last lost a sword fight, but he could tell this would be close either way. The other witcher was just as fast as him. And stronger, each of his blows blocked vibrating up Logan’s arms and into his shoulders. He couldn’t give, he couldn’t lose. He knew King William would die if he did.

Logan dodged another blow when he realized he wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer. The other witcher was throwing everything he had at him, spell after spell after spell, one sword blow followed by the next. King William wasn’t moving, still caught in the Axii sign. The next Aard missed Logan without him needing to dodge. Or rather, he thought the Aard missed, until he heard wood shatter behind him. Only his reflexes saved him from the falling bookcase crushing him.

He didn’t curse as he struggled back to his feet, lunging at his enemy, but he was too late. All he could do was watch in horror as the other witcher brought his sword down through King William’s neck without a struggle. Logan hit him just after, with all his weight, knocking them both over. The other witcher shoved and kicked at him, struggling free. He rolled to his feet after a vicious kick to Logan’s gut. For good measure, he added another kick, this time aimed at Logan’s chest that drove all the air from his lungs and another blast of Aard that made his ears ring.

Logan made his peace with death in that moment. He couldn’t stop it anymore. But when he lifted his eyes at the other witcher, he was sheathing his sword, returning Logan’s gaze. “I have no quarrel with you, wolf,” he growled. He picked up the cut off head of the late King William and secured it to his belt. Then, he walked over to one of the giant windows, opened it and jumped.

In shock, Logan was by the window in seconds. Not quick enough to stop the assassin. Not quick enough even to go after him. Just quick enough to watch the other witcher climb into a boat at the bottom of the cliff. The bastard even waved at him, smirking, as the people, elves, around him rowed off.

And then the shouting behind Logan started.


	4. Aftermath of the Assassination

Dreams plagued Logan in his restless sleep. Dreams of King William’s dead eyes, of the cut-off head blaming him for his death. Or maybe it was just the people in the dungeons shouting those blames at him with each lash of the whip biting into the skin of his back. He could bear both, the whipping and the accusations.

The dreams that came when he wasn’t dreaming of King William were somehow worse. He dreamt of a place he still couldn’t remember once waking. He dreamt of blue eyes, bright and happy and proud, looking at him. Of a little girl, taking wobbling steps into the outstretched arms of a man. He didn’t dream of their faces. He didn’t remember when it had happened or if it even really was the memory he wanted it to be after he woke. He didn’t dream of faces, not even when the man turned toward him while he was holding the little girl in his arms. Pride welled up in his chest in the dream. He remembered… something. Content maybe, happiness. It left his eyes stinging when he woke.

“Laura,” he muttered before his waking mind caught up with the fact that he didn’t know anyone of that name.

“Laura?” The name was repeated back at him in a drawl. “Have you been beaten silly already,  _ Master Witcher _ ?” The woman pronounced the last two words with a sneer.

Logan blinked to get his eyes to focus on the woman before him. The commander of the Blue Stripes. The one in charge of this dungeon and him, now that he was being accused of regicide. The one who’d ordered him being hung up to dry from his arms in the middle of a cell. “Fuck you, Frost.”

The corner of her mouth twitched up. “That’s better. Who’s Laura? Your co-conspirator? Your lover?” She dug her nails in a healing wound on Logan’s side, making it bleed again. Logan set his jaw to keep from screaming.

“Fuck if I know,” Logan panted when she finally stopped. “I know no ploughing Laura. Can’t remember her.” He groaned. “Can’t remember anything past the last two years.”

“Right, so I heard.” Her mouth twisted into a cruel smile that made her eyes turn icy. “The witcher with no memories. Remembers all the monsters, remembers all his training, but doesn’t remember his past. It’s like straight out of a ballad.” She tilted her head. “But I believe you in that.” She sighed. “Now, tell me truthfully: did you kill King William?”

“No!” Logan snapped.

“Then who did?”

“Another witcher.” It grated him to admit that. The only witcher worse than one kept by royalty as a bodyguard was a witcher turned assassin. Logan could see why a witcher would. Getting paid to assassinate was a whole lot better than starving. But it wasn’t right and only made life harder for every other witcher in the end. “He was waiting for King William. Disguised himself as a monk. Had the Prince. I told your men before!”

“And now you’re telling me. Continue. Or do I need to make you?”

“We fought. He won. Didn’t kill me. Killed the King, though. Took the head and then jumped out the window. They were already waiting for him at the river below the keep,” he growled. “He’d it all planned.”

“They? They who? Describe them.”

“Elves. A dwarf, maybe. Scoia'tael, likely. One of the elves wore a red… something round her head.”

Frost cursed at the description. She started pacing, her usually calm face displaying cold rage. For a moment, Logan wondered if she’d let her rage out on him. She calmed herself with a couple of deep breaths. “My sources confirm your story,” she informed him. “But I can’t let you go. We need somebody to take the blame for the regicide. But…” She smiled. “Do you think you could take out two of my guards unarmed and make it to the docks outside by nightfall?”

Logan freed his left hand, waving it around. “Probably.”

Overconfidence and bluffs were going to be the death of him, Logan thought later that day as he hid from yet another patrol of guards in the upper levels of the dungeons. He had been able to free himself when the two guards entered his cells to give him another beating. They had gotten it instead and had learned a hard lesson on a witcher’s fighting ability. He’d left them unconscious and locked in his cell but he didn’t dare count on them staying unconscious until he’d gone. Sooner or, less likely, later, the guards on duty would realize he had escaped.

Still, he breathed in the fresh air with relief once he reached the outside. It was just before nightfall, the shadows already stretching long. Easy to blend in with, easy to avoid being seen from above. He followed his nose to the docks, the faint smell of river as his guide. He let his ears warn him of the soldiers his eyes could not yet see. The closer he got, the more sure he was that no ordinary man would have been able to flee from this dungeon. More than once on the outside, he had to duck into the deepest shadows with mere seconds to spare before a guard covered in hardened leathers turned a corner, signaling back to another. Nothing about those soldiers made a sound, if you weren’t a witcher who was well able to hear the beat of a heart and the quiet breath of a man through thick walls.

Logan had to wait for night to completely fall. He had to use the brief time between sunset and the rise of the moon for the last stretch of his escape, a narrow walkway and stairs leading down to the piers, all without any cover. There was a boat at the end of the furthest pier waiting. He thought he saw somebody on board, but couldn’t be sure at the distance. The moment the sun dipped below the horizon, he decided to run. He’d gotten to the stairs before he heard guards hurrying behind him. Somebody was sounding an alarm as he jumped down the stairs three at a time, barely managing not to stumble. Arrows flew past him as he sprinted down the pier to the boat.

“Logan!” Jean called from the boat, a tiny little dingy, not the kind of boat that would get them far on the river. He hoped they wouldn’t need to. And he also hoped that his flight did not have to involve portals.

A man shrieked behind him as a fire ball hit. Logan ignored it, speeding up some more. Jean had untied the boat before he reached it, already steering it into the current. Logan had to jump to make it on board. The little cockleshell rocked beneath him. He sat down, figuring that that would help with the rocking. It did, although not by much. The soldiers were still shooting at them, but Jean held the arrows off with a shield.

“Thank you,” Logan said, once he got his breath back and they were in the middle of the river. “Where’re we going?”

“Flotsam, didn’t Emma tell you?”

“Flotsam?” Logan furrowed his brows. “In this?”

Jean rolled her eyes, but she was smiling fondly at Logan either way. “No, Emma said she’d be waiting for us round the next river bend with a ship. A barge. Easily big enough to make for a comfortable journey.”

“Great, so that means Emma’s coming along, too.” It probably meant that she’d still hang him if their hunt for the real culprits didn’t pan out. With a sigh, Logan made himself comfortable on the bow end. He poked around the cargo, hidden under threadbare burlap sacks, only to find his swords and armor. He happily put the armor back on, not even flinching when it touched his open back. He’d heal soon enough and if he had to meet Emma again this soon, he’d do it with armor, not without. “Thanks, again.”

Jean smiled at him, a genuine little smile she only ever used on him. “Whenever you need me, Logan.”

Logan nodded, already of half a mind to get some rest. His mind drifted, only to nudge what he’d put aside earlier back into focus. He opened his eyes again. “Did I ever know a Laura and her father?” he asked Jean. Jean, whom he trusted and who knew more about his past than anyone else he could ask in a reasonably short time.

Jean tilted her head. “I… don’t know, Logan.” She looked past him at the river ahead. “Why do you ask?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he murmured roughly. “But I think I remember her… her first steps maybe. Strange.”

“Strange,” Jean agreed. “Who’d raise a child with a witcher?”

“Nobody I can remember,” Logan sighed. He didn’t tell her about the blue eyes and the feeling of content he remembered from the dream. Somehow, that seemed too private to share, even with Jean.


	5. Conspiracy in the Forest

In a cave deep in the forests around Flotsam, Erik unslung his blades from his back and settled down. There had been hints at another contract from his mysterious employer, so he was sticking around for the time being. Even if it meant the leader of the Scoia'tael band sheltering him watched his every move. She’d been the messenger telling him about King William of Temeria when he’d delivered the head of King Sebastian to Upper Aedirn. About that time, he was starting to suspect he was deciding some war that had not yet started. Just who the bastards were that would sack poor Temeria and Aedirn within the next year, he was still murky on. But he had a strong incline who it might be.

He looked up at the Scoia’tael leader. Fine, there was only one educated guess he could make. And Working for the Black Ones wasn’t too bad. They had deep, heavy, coffers, at the very least.

“What?” the Scoia’tael leader snapped at him.

“I just figured out we’re both working for Nilfgaard.” Erik returned his attention to his sword. It had a new nick from his run-in with the Wolf school witcher and was in desperate need of sharpening and other maintenance. He dunked the cloth he’d prepared earlier into the bowl of water beside his boot. First, he’d see his sword clean. The nick and worrying over how he could deal with that while elves were watching his every move would have to wait until later.

Raven let out a low growl. “How?” she demanded. The quickening of her heart at his revelation made him think that he had guessed at something she hadn’t yet.

“Simple, Raven.” He took the cloth and started methodically cleaning his sword of grime and dried blood. “I killed one king and then you helped me kill another. Leaving two nations kingless. Two nations already threatened by others before. I’d have believed that I was hired by Kaedwen or Redania. But since  _ you  _ are involved, it can’t be them. That leaves Nilfgaard. Not that I mind. It’s definitely better than working for Redania. And everyone knows the Emperor will not stop until he brings his legions into the North. This time, it might actually work.”

She huffed. “Well, we  _ were  _ promised amnesty and equality.”

“Hmmm, figured.” The cloth was rinsed in the water, quickly turning it brown. “Didn’t think anything less would get you on board with it.”

“They’re treating non-humans like everybody else in South.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

“I wouldn’t know. No work for a witcher under the Empire’s rule nowadays. Too much organized military for monsters to become a problem.” Erik held up his sword, inspecting it for any dirt he might have missed. “D’you think he’d show again to let us know the third act of the plan?”

“He?” Her brows furrowed. She was still glaring daggers at him. “What he? I was negotiating for our payment with some messenger. A soldier. Dh’oine. Terrified, as he should be. But not noteworthy. Who was it that hired  _ you _ ?”

“It was…” And then, Erik paused as his mind put the pieces together. The guard. The way he’d kept his face hidden. The authority. “Bugger me sideways. I think, that might have been the Emperor himself. Ploughing shite.”

This made the Scoia’tael leader’s eyes bug out. She dropped to sit next to him, looked into Erik’s eyes and said: “What. The. Fuck. Erik.”

“I know.” Erik felt panic rise in him even though he was probably safe from any wrath for the moment. Lot of good his mutations were to him if they couldn’t even take this reasonable fear away. “I told him I’d kill the Emperor for what he’s paying me and he didn’t even bat an eye. I’m fucked. We’re fucked, probably. Did you hear what he did to Cintra?”

She nodded glumly. “He is allied with Kaedwen, too. And he’d the King of Aedirn murdered, where non-humans could live in relative peace? Great ally. Who’s gonna keep him from turning on us if he sides with those murderous  _ dh’oine _ ?”

“On us, personally? Nobody.” Erik dropped the cloth. His sword was as clean as it would get. Next, he gave it an edge again with a whetstone. The movement of his hands kept his mind from spiraling through a number of violent, imminent, and unpleasant deaths.

The Scoia’tael leader was watching his hands, her gaze revealing her thoughts to be far away. “What happened to your sword?” she asked, suddenly. “That nick wasn’t there the other night.”

“Ran into another witcher.”

“When?”

“King William had one with him.” Erik thought about it for a moment. What the hell. “Wolf school. Looked like he wasn’t a bodyguard but defended him anyway. Had to distract him long enough to kill William. Didn’t kill him. It seemed so pointless at the time.”

“But he saw you?”

“So what? Not like he could come after me all that easily. And why should he? Nobody’s gonna pay for it.”

“Erik,” the Scoia’tael leader growled.

“What, Raven?”

“Not everyone is only interested in coin,” she snapped. “What if he told the Blue Stripes? What if the Temerians made him tell them? It’s not like Frost is known for putting on kiddie gloves with anyone. And she’s an actual  _ believer  _ in the idea of Temeria.” She sneered the last sentence. “Frost will have your head for this.”

Erik laughed. “She’s certainly welcome to try.”

“No!” Raven jumped to her feet. She pointed a finger at him. “You. Stay here. Let me have a look around Flotsam and see if I can find out what’s happening. Then, when we have information, we’ll make plans. And then, only then, we act. Understood?”

Erik shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. It’s warm and dry here and your people keep me fed. I could do with a small break anyway.”

Raven glared at him again. She huffed, throwing her hands up. Erik knew he was irritating her, even without the outbursts. They just made it more fun.  _ Alright _ , he thought as she stalked off, _ I can stay for a while. _


	6. The Flotsam Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan's (mis-)adventures in Flotsam and the forest around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General violence and a minor character death warning

Logan wiped endrega goo off his blade with a curse. He actually preferred drowners. If he’d never had to put his silver sword inside any other insectoid it’d still be too soon. He hated the forest around Flotsam almost as much as he hated the way Emma ploughing Frost had made him her personal errand boy.

He was searching the forest for that mysterious Raven elf because Emma had ordered it. She had promised a lead if he did. Before that, she’d made him break into the study of a local dignitary. All that had earned him was her cradling his head in her icy claws and have her tell him that she probably could do something about his amnesia but she saw no reason to. Unless he bribed her. With a certain red haired elf in chains dropped at her feet.

Logan couldn’t believe he’d agreed.

Dreams of Laura and her blue-eyed, warm, father came to him almost every night now. One morning, he’d franticly wiped at his eyes so much he’d woken Jean in bed next to him. He couldn’t even explain what was wrong. There wasn’t, particularly. He’d dreamt of being handed Laura that morning. Had dreamt of her tiny hands on his face, tugging at his hair and beard. She’d been calling him “da”, over and over again. And bright blue eyes had found his and they’d been full of love and pride for him.

Other dreams came, too. Dreams of battles he couldn’t remember fighting. Friends he couldn’t remember ever seeing in the flesh. Horses he’d ridden. Women he’d shared a bed with and more. Some men, too, but only one as prominent in his dreams as Laura’s father, who he still could not remember the face of no matter how he tried. The other man came to him in dreams of Laura, too, but an much older Laura, one with fierce determination and growing skill as a fighter. Scott, Laura was calling him. He was a sorcerer. That was about all Logan knew for certain.

And because he needed to know, he was stomping through a forest full of monsters on two, four, six and eight legs. He had to take care of the worst of them as a favor to one of the elves living outside the town. After that, the elf had promised, he’d make contact with Raven. It was up to her whether she wanted to meet him. It wasn’t like Logan had another choice. He had no other leads. He could tell himself he was doing it because Emma made him. But deep down he knew, he did so because he needed the answers the Scoia’tael alone could give. Like why King William had been assassinated. Or who that other witcher had been.

Curious was a terrible thing to be. Witchers were all naturally curious. Sometimes, Logan wondered if that was punishment for their enhanced senses and abilities.

The less dull parts of the Path helped him keep his curiosity in check. As they did right now, when he did the incredibly stupid act of prying open a third cocoon full of endrega eggs. He’d set traps, he’d applied insectoid oil to his blade, he’d enough bombs to incinerate a small village… He should be in no serious threat of death, but one never knew. He took a deep breath, before he destroyed the final cocoon.

Just as soon as his blade sliced the gelatinous eggs open, a terrible screech erupted behind him. An endrega queen dropped from the branches above. Enraged at her clutch having been destroyed, she was spitting venom before even all her legs had hit the ground. Logan leapt out of the way, rolled, came up behind her, got in a good hit. Then, he had to dodge again, her claws swinging around as she turned, snapping angrily at him.

Careful not to trigger any of them, Logan retreated behind the line of traps he’d set. The endrega queen came rushing at him head-on. Her screeches turned higher with each leg trapped in another set of metal teeth. Logan managed to avoid her claws again, rolling to come up behind her, thrusting his blade wildly at the weak spots in her armor. The sound she now made was closer to a whine. But Logan didn’t dare hope that the fight was over. He wretched his sword free, leaping back when she whirled around, flattening the ground where he’d just stood with her claws.

Logan fumbled a bomb from his belt as he avoided her attacks. A quick flick of his wrist and the bomb exploded in her face, allowing him to retreat further, behind the next line of traps. She tried to rush him again, having learned nothing of her earlier mistake. This time, the traps were no mere legholds, they were explosive traps. Fire licked at her carapace, leaving sooth smears. Logan leapt at her, aiming for the shrieks. His sword clicked against her mandibles, her teeth. It cut into her head when he pushed, burying the blade deep into her body.

Goop sprayed from her dying body as he wretched his sword free. Logan dragged a hand down his face. He hated insectoids to much. Now, after the fight, he was covered head to toe in body fluids. The bright side was, it wouldn’t have dried by the time he’d finished up clearing the arena he’d set of traps and valuable potion ingredients. The downside was, it wouldn’t have dried then.

Figuring that he probably looked like a water hag and had about the same chances of one to enter the town to get a warm bath at the inn, he headed the opposite direction. He’d heard running water earlier and could smell a body of standing water. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to compete with a pack of drowners for the swimming spot.

The pond turned out to be actually quite idyllic. Sunlight made it through the foliage to glitter on the water. A small waterfall gurgled into the pond. There was an ancient, weather-worn statue of an old elven something on one side, but Logan chose to ignore that part. He couldn’t hear any monsters, couldn’t smell any, couldn’t even sense anything near.

Still, he kept most of his armor on, only taking off his boots and gloves. He could fight without either. Besides, he hated having wet boots. He scrubbed the worst of the guck off at the edge, before wading toward the waterfall. The water around him was turning interesting shades of green and brown Logan chose not to inspect too closely. The spray of the waterfall on his face felt divine even before he stepped under it to let it drench him from head to toe. It took some scrubbing to get superficially clean. He knew he’d be pulling out bits of the Endrega queen for weeks after this, no matter how well he thought he’d cleaned his armor. But at least the waterfall allowed him to get it out of his hair and off his face.

For a few moments, he simply enjoyed feeling clean again.

Logan was about to turn back to his boots and gloves, when he noticed the cave behind the waterfall. There was a draft from within, now that he paid attention. It looked like it went on for quite a bit. And, what was more important, even through the water, he could smell blood inside. It meant a great deal of it had to have been spilled, not too long ago.

Making up his mind, he went back and pulled his boots back on, followed by his gloves. Getting to the cave mostly dry was a matter of sidling and a short jump, but he managed it. Inside, he downed a Cat potion, enhancing his sight for the dim light. He didn’t want to alert anything of his presence by carrying a torch. He didn’t want to alert anything, period, not before he had a chance to sneak up on them or was sure he could win the fight. That tactic usually kept witchers alive.

The cave led down a gentle slope. Eventually, there was a bend in the way, before it opened up to a wider room with a number of sidearms branching off. Logan stopped at the mouth of the cavern. He could hear the chattering of Nekkers now. The smell of blood had grown more prominent, too. He drew his silver sword.

Something had to have disturbed the little buggers. They were even louder than usual, which was saying something. It urged Logan to be cautious. As he concentrated, he could make out heavy breathing underneath all the screeches. He reached for another bomb from his belt, as he peered around a corner.

The Nekkers were crowded below a ledge. Some tried to jump up on the ledge. Others lay on the ground with arrows through the bodies. As he watched, another arrow pierced a Nekker. There was an elf on the ledge, bleeding heavily. The elf was kicking at those of the ugly little monsters that made it to the top of the ledge, but the kicks were getting weaker each time.

Logan made his decision in a split second. He threw the bomb in the throng of bickering monsters, jumping after it to finish the rest off. It thankfully didn’t take long. He wasn’t sure if he’d managed it through another hard fight without serious injuries.

“You still alive?” he called up to the elf. The first answer he got was an arrow shot at his head. He sidestepped the arrow and tried again: “I’m not gonna hurt you. What happened?” Deliberately, he looked around, giving the elf time to process his words. There were elven remains between the Nekkers. Somebody had dropped a group of people into a Nekker nest and then left them to die. Logan clenched his fists.

“Who killed your friends?” he pressed out. He itched to draw steel.

“Witcher,” the elf gasped. His breath rattled in his chest in a way that told Logan he was drowning in his own blood and nobody could stop that from happening. “A witcher. Tell Raven… be careful. ...traitor…” He groaned. “Help.”

Logan pulled himself up onto the ledge. The elf was dying. He knew he was dying. It was painfully clear in his eyes. “Please. Help me,” the elf rasped. He was holding a dagger in a shaking hand. He was too weak to even end it himself.

Logan knelt down next to the elf. He cast a quick Axii to calm him. “It’ll be over soon,” he rumbled, covering the elf’s hand holding the dagger with his. Together, they sheated the dagger in the elf’s chest.

Logan kept sitting with the elf for a while after he’d died. He just hoped his soul would find peace.

~~~

When Logan staggered back to town, Emma was waiting for him at the gates. He shook his head as she opened her mouth and pushed past her. “Not tonight, Frost. Not tonight.”

She huffed but dismissed him with a gesture. “First thing in the morning, then,” she ordered.

Logan ignored her. He went straight to the local inn for a drink. He even ignored his friends calling him over, at least until he had a bottle of strong liquor in his hand. He sat down heavily on the bench, covering his eyes with one hand and drinking straight from the bottle with the other.

“Hard day on the Path?” Wade had managed to keep his mouth shut for two full minutes. Logan was almost proud. Almost. He shot him a glare. “Alright alright I’m not gonna ask. I’ll just make something up to make you look good, as always.”

“Should’ve let ‘em hang you,” Logan rumbled between mouthfuls of vodka.

“You love me too much to let me come to harm,” Wade beamed. “Anyway, what did you do? Slew a giant tentacled swamp monster? Rescued a fair maiden only to have her thank her betrothed instead of you? Hit your head and forgot everything all over again?”

Logan threw the empty bottle right past Wade’s head. It shattered against the wall. The shocked expression on Wade’s face made Logan feel better for a fraction of a second. After, he just felt like an ass. “Watched an elf die,” he said in a low tone. He didn’t like to advertise he stood with non-humans just as much as he stood with humans. “Somebody left him and his companions in a Nekker nest.”

Wade gasped, looking appropriately horrified. “What? Who’d do that? That’s just nasty. What happened to good old throat cutting?”

Logan shrugged. “Dunno. But I have a good idea who. Remember that other witcher I told you about?”

“The one who definitely killed King William that wasn’t you? That other witcher?” At least Wade called for more drinks, so Logan refrained from strangling him.”So, he’s really here, huh? But I thought he was allied with the local scoia'tael, not slaughtering them.”

The drinks arrived and Logan was busy making use of it for a moment. He also needed to buy time to think about his answer. “Dunno,” he finally admitted. “But you said you had contacts with the scoia’tael, might be a good time to use those. Got a message from a dying elf to his leader.”

Wade was silent for a long moment. Logan went back to get some serious drinking done while he had the peace. Eventually, just when Logan was about to order his third drink, Wade nodded to himself. “Fine. But nobody may ever hear about my role in this, you hear me? Raven found you. I had no part in it. I’m already in enough trouble without sticking my neck out for you. I love you, Logan, but I don’t love you enough and not in a way that’d make me risk my life and beautiful face for you. Just, be careful and don’t fuck with her. She’s… she’s been fighting for longer than you have. And the elves… they treat her like somebody special. So, just, be careful, alright, buddy?”

Logan nodded. Wade being sincere was rare enough to take it serious. “If you make that happen, I’ll owe you.”

“Don’t you always?” Wade smiled brightly.

“Don’t push it, Wade.”

~~~

It was still mostly night when Logan startled awake. First, he couldn’t pinpoint what had woken him. His body reacted on its own, dodging the first arrow aimed at his head, redirecting the second with the candlestick from the nightstand. Then, he was on his feet, hitting the attacker stupid enough to come at him with a knife in the solar plexus. The knife didn’t even get to the floor before Logan scooped it up and threw it at the archer. It burrowed into the wood almost to the hilt next to the attacker’s head. The third intruder, the one that hadn’t actively attacked him yet, stepped from the shadows, hands raised. The face, however, remained hidden under a dark hood.

“What,” Logan growled, reaching for his pants without taking his eyes off the archer. “The fuck.”

“Please forgive the intrusion, Master  _ vatt’ghern _ ,” the third intruder said. Logan was surprised to hear the voice of a woman. “We had to make sure you weren’t just some  _ dh’oine _ . One can never be too careful.”

Logan glared at her. But, since she’d also motioned for her two companions to stand down, he took it as his cue to at least put on some pants. The elf waited for him. Once dressed in full armor, with his swords strapped to his back and pockets full of traps and bombs, Logan crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I think,” he said testily. “Introductions are in order.”

“Later,” the elf said. She leant back so she could look out the window. “I’m sure you’re well versed in getting around towns unseen?”

Logan shrugged. “Sure. Where’re we going?”

“Up, first,” the elf said, before disappearing through the window.

Inwardly, Logan cursed her, but he still followed, pulling himself up on the roof of the inn. The other two followed him suit. The elf led them across the roofs of the low houses and various shacks of Flotsam to the wall separating the town from the forest around it. Only there, she paused until they’d all caught up with her. She was pressing her body close to the wall of the tower they’d reached, staring at the guards below. Not some of Emma’s men, Logan noticed with a flash of relief. The local thugs were much easier to deal with should the need arise.

The elf was likely considering the same, as she waved the archer over to her. From beneath the hooded cloak, she produced a bow of her own. As far as Logan could tell, there was no communication between the two as they pulled back their bowstrings, aimed and dropped both of the gate guards at exactly the same time. He could make out a faint smirk when the hood turned to him.

“Now, we go down and leave,” she said.

The elf made dropping from a twenty foot wall onto the roof of a squad shed look easy. Logan himself was much less graceful about it, lowering himself until he was hanging by his arms and then letting himself drop the next ten feet, which was still painful on impact. His three guides were already standing on the ground. The hooded elf made a gesture to signal him to get on with it and come down.

Traversing the forest was much easier. The archer was especially useful, sticking the odd Drowner full of arrows before it even came close and saving Logan the hassle. There were no human guards patrolling and the few elves Logan noticed in the trees didn’t mind them. They passed the pond and the waterfall Logan had discovered just this afternoon to follow a narrow path almost hidden by brambles up the hill. Logan could smell the sweet scent of roses long before he could see the ruins they were headed to. The hooded elf passed through a crumbling gate.

Logan needed a moment to take in what he was seeing before he could follow. There were roses everywhere, climbing the few walls still standing, growing a thick brush around an empty central space. Overlooking it was a statue of white marble, beautiful in its craftsmanship, despite its obvious age. It depicted two elven lovers, lying together in an intimate embrace. Roses were climbing them, too, but their bodies and features were still visible.

The elf sat down on the platform of the statue and pushed her hood back.

Logan recognized her immediately. The shocking red hair was a dead giveaway, as was the way it fell into her face, concealing that she was missing an eye. Raven, the leader of the local scoia'tael, had picked him up herself. One day, Logan would have to tell Wade about this and just hope the bard wouldn’t explode with pride of his accomplishment.

“I was told you wanted to talk to me,  _ bleidd _ ,” Raven said, her gaze boring into the wolf head medallion around Logan’s neck. “So talk.”

“I found one of your men today,” Logan recounted. “He was dying. Nekkers’d gotten to him. He said to warn you. There’s a traitor, a witcher, who’d left the troop with the Nekkers to die.”

Raven’s expression hardened. “And why should I believe you?”

Logan took a moment to consider this. “Because you want to,” he finally said. “You’re suspicious yourself or you wouldn’t’ve come to me directly.”

Raven quirked her eyebrow. “If I were to demand proof...?”

“Caves below. Not that there’s any proof of who did it. But I dealt with the Nekkers, so taking a look won’t kill any more of your scoia’tael.”

Raven nodded, her eye closing as she took on a thoughtful expression. “I have heard first hand accounts of what you did in Vizima last year,” she said eventually, still thoughtful. “If I had not, I would never have agreed to meet you,  _ vatt'ghern _ . You stood with the Scoia’tael against the Order of the Flaming Rose. Would you stand again with us against a different foe?”

It took Logan a moment to hear what Raven’s keener elven ears had picked up. Oh, Emma and her men were quiet, but not quiet enough for elves, or even a witcher. With a gesture, Raven commanded her archers in the trees.

It turned out to be a command to hold their arrows. Emma walked through the withered gate unscratched, her sword drawn, eyes immediately focusing on Raven, who’d eluded her so long.

“Commander,” Raven greeted, standing up and drawing daggers of her own in one smooth motion. “I’m glad you could make it.”

The moment three of Emma’s men had made it through the gate behind her, a handful of elves dropped from the trees above, blocking their escape. Emma snorted. “I do respond to invitations, elf. You should try it sometimes.”

“And meet you on your terms?” Raven smiled. “I am not yet suicidal. Besides, you are too smart not to have your new pet witcher watched and followed.”

“Hey!”

Logan’s protest went ignored. “You could still turn yourselves in,” Emma taunted. Logan had to admire her guts. She and her men were outnumbered, completely surrounded, and yet she still talked as if she was moments away from dealing a final blow. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about? That is why I’m here and alive, isn’t it?”

Raven inclined her head briefly. “Both of you, actually.” She lowered her daggers, but didn’t take her eyes off Emma. “We’ve been betrayed, Frost. Both of us. And we’ll likely not see this ploy through to its end. Kaedwen and Redania are already sharpening their knives to finish what another started.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Is that supposed to be new information to me?”

“No, merely proof I am as well-informed as you are,  _ dh’oine _ .” Raven hesitated for a brief moment. “I was promised that non-humans would be equal, after the end of the war. I believ-”

Logan felt the hum of his medallion before Raven started to fight the magic keeping her from talking. He drew his sword, eyes moving fast to find… the witcher from the Viper school, the Kingslayer, his hand still raised from the sign he had just performed. “I have nothing against any of you,” the witcher said, drawing his steel as well. “Personally. It’s just politics and a hefty price on all your heads.” He flicked his wrist, repeating the Axii sign at one of the Blue Stripes soldiers.

It all happened very fast after that. The soldier attacked the nearest elf. Both sides fought to help their fellow warrior. Emma yelled for them to stop and then gave up when she was pulled into the fight as well. Logan didn’t have time to pick a side. He barely managed to jostle Raven out of her stupor, before he had to bring up his blade, narrowly blocking a swing the Kingslayer had aimed at his head. The impact rang through his arms, but they both jumped back quickly, bringing their swords around in wide arches, only to clash again. The ground felt hollow under Logan’s feet as he swept his sword at his opponent, dodging the cut aimed at his chest at the same time. They circled each other, trying to force their opponent to make the step forward onto uneven ground. When the Kingslayer cast Aard, sending out a telekinetic blast to make Logan stagger, Logan squared his shoulders and took the step, trusting his Quen shield would protect him. Their swords crashed into each other again. Even with both hands, Logan struggled to push back against the force of the other witcher.

The ground below rumbled.

And then gave.

They fell, not deep, but deep enough that the impact knocked the air from both their lungs, enough to make them wrestle and kick at each other while they struggled to get back on their feet, still disoriented. The room they were now in looked like an ancient ruin, not a cave. Logan didn’t have much opportunity to admire the architecture, but he could guess that the pillar the Kingslayer knocked over in the hopes of burying him was elven. The stones that came raining down on him were carved, too, as was the one bigger block he sent flying at the other witcher with a quick Aard.

Logan dodged another swipe of the Kingslayer’s blade, tried to send a wave of Igni flames at him that glanced off a Quen shield and then kicked him in the ribs when his sword failed to connect with his enemy. They disengaged again, circling each other. Logan wished he’d thought of taking a throwing knife or two. As it stood, all he had were a handful of bombs, none of which were especially useful against a mostly human opponent in close quarters. He fumbled out a Dimeritium bomb from his pocket anyway. At least, once he’d thrown it in the Kingslayer’s face, they’d both be unable to use their magic.

Logan had to dodge a dagger his opponent threw at him before he could retaliate with the bomb. It made the Kingslayer cough, the dagger he’d meant to send after the first not even coming close to hitting Logan. Or so Logan had thought, until the dagger curved impossibly, boring through Logan’s shoulder armor. Logan cried out in pain, even as he pulled the dagger out of his shoulder and threw it blindly back at the Kingslayer. His shoulder would knit itself back together eventually, he knew, but he had to stay alive for it to happen.

“As much as I enjoyed our little sparring matches, Wolf,” he heard the Kingslayer say. He was standing at the top of some stairs leading out of the room. “I am needed elsewhere. Can’t say I’d like to see you again, though. You’ve been a real pain.”

Logan moved as fast as he could, but he’d barely reached the bottom of the stairs when the Kingslayer collapsed the doorway, allowing dirt and debris to fall in and block the only exit out of the room. He slid to a halt before he could be buried alongside and stared at the former exit. With a curse, he pressed his flat hand against his still bleeding shoulder.

He felt his way to the nearest wall and sank down against it. His eyes slipped close now that the adrenaline of the fight was running out. He could feel his shoulder heal under his hand but he’d still lost a lot of blood, more than an accidental hit should have spilt. The more he thought about it, the more Logan was convinced that it’d have to have been some kind of magic. The same kind that helped him heal wounds faster than any other witcher he knew.

The noise of fighting above had stopped. A part of Logan wondered if anyone’d won. Or if the Kingslayer had killed all survivors. Maybe Raven or Emma had escaped. Maybe he’d be lucky for once in his life. Maybe whoever was left up there would let down a rope to rescue him.

He forced himself back to his feet. The only person who’s rescue him was himself. He was never lucky. He just had to push on, as always.

The cave in still looked bad upon closer inspection. But the wall next to it looked promising. Logan could even feel a draft coming through between two of the stones. He leant against the wall to see if he could push the stones with strength alone. When that failed, he took a step back and used Aard. The hole it caused was barely big enough for him to squeeze through. He was just glad he’d allowed his shoulder to heal before he’d tried it.

The room beyond was a large empty space with a sunken pool in the middle. Water flowed from a hole in the wall at the far end in a steady stream. When Logan dipped his fingers into the water, it turned out to be warm. His medallion hummed, letting him know there was still magic around. It had to be an ancient elven bath. There were even the same roses growing by the pool that were growing above. If he’d only had the time, Logan would have liked to stay for a while.

As things stood, he hurried across the room to a staircase at the far end leading up. He had no hope he’d catch up to another witcher that didn’t mean to be caught. But there might still be somebody left alive from the fight. Driven by this shred of hope, Logan took the stairs two at a time. The door at the top of the stairs was easily opened by powering the locking mechanism with the help of one of his signs. He could see daylight when the door was open, even though the stairs still went on.

There was a lot of blood on the ground before the statue. The rose bushes had been hacked up in places and showed signs of something big running through them at others. There was a broken sword next to the base of the statue, the blade snapped clean in two. Logan did his best to ignore the bodies. He knew they were all dead. Alive people had more blood in them and more limbs, too. Anyway, being alive usually meant people were breathing and none of them did that anymore.

He could smell smoke in the distance. He couldn’t see it through the trees, but the wind was coming from Flotsam. A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Without another thought, Logan took off running toward the town.

The cries of panic deafened Logan’s ears before he’d even reached the shantytown on the outskirts of town. The smoke was thick and burning in his throat as he ran on, hastily covering his mouth with a rag. It was like the entire town within the walls was in flames. He pushed his way through the thong of fleeing people. He was shouting for Wade and Jean, without expecting an answer.

“Logan!” someone was yelling and it took until Logan was almost standing in front of him to realize it was Wade, bucket in hand and looking as if he’d been through a fight. His clothes were torn and sooty, his hat was missing. There was a nasty looking gash in his side. Not missing a beat, Wade shouted, “The harbor! Jean! He took her!”

Logan gave him a curt nod. There was only one person he could think of that’d manage to abduct a sorceress. He didn’t like the thought. On a snap decision, he grabbed Wade by the neck of his ruined doublet and dragged him away from the futile efforts to douse the fires. As much as Wade got him into trouble and as much as Wade was terribly annoying on a good day, Logan knew for a fact that he’d miss him if he’d let him die.

The ships in the harbor had all started to set out onto the river, drawing away from the shore and thus the fire. One was further away than all the others, heading upstream. Logan took one moment to consider things, then he started running again, down the pier, dragging a protesting Wade with him. Somebody was waving at them from the nearest barge. Logan registered the red hair before he jumped, half throwing, half dragging Wade with him. They hit the deck hard. Wade was cursing up a storm at him, but Logan had already drawn his sword. There were soldiers in blue and white around them, advancing with their weapons held high.

“ _ Bleidd, _ ” he heard Raven shout. An arrow went straight through the throat of the soldier nearest to Logan. Logan ducked under the swing of a halberd, kicking the feet out from under his attacker and driving his sword into him while he was on his back. “Erik’s taken your sorceress! He’s headed for Vergen! We have to get there!”

Logan nodded. He didn’t have the presence of mind to answer out loud, too busy shouldering another soldier over the railing into the river below before turning to the next fool stupid enough to attack him.

Between the two of them, Raven and Logan made quick work of the Temerian soldiers defending the barge. The sailors had been watching, too busy getting the ship out of harm’s way to involve themselves in fighting. The captain stopped his protests as soon as Raven handed him a heavy pouch and started shouting orders to set course to Vergen.

Logan wiped down his sword. He probably looked as bad as Wade, covered in a thick layer of grime, with a healthy dose of other people’s blood on top. Raven sat down with them, out of breath but otherwise barely affected.

“What the fuck happened?” Logan asked. He didn’t really want to get an answer, but he knew he had to.

“Erik,” Raven sighed. “That other witcher,” she added at Logan’s raised eyebrow. “Your Kingslayer. He…” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I should have known. I’m sorry,  _ Bleidd.  _ I was paid to shelter him and bring him new orders. I didn’t work out what they were until it was too late. He’s…” She took a deep breath. “I think you ought to know it all.”

“Yes,” Logan growled. He was already liking this less and less. “Start with King William and go from there.”

Raven closed her eyes with grimace. “I exchanged orders from our employer for proof Erik had finished his first job. While I took the head of King Sebastian of Aedirn back to a nearby troop of scouts, Erik went for La Valette castle. I was ordered to wait for him on the river, to help him escape after he’d dealt with King William.”

“And you don’t happen to know who you’re working for, don’t you?”

Raven sighed again. “Erik worked that out, actually. I only knew it was some  _ dh’oine _ . But he figured out that the only one who’d be bastard enough to kill Northern kings and not recoil at the thought of working with” She sneered the name humans used for her guerilla force. “Squirrels, is…”

“Nilfgaard,” Wade interrupted, wide eyed. “Again? That’d be the third war since… well, since they changed rulers,” he finished lamely, looking sideways at Logan.

“But this time, they’re going in for the kill,  _ after  _ everyone else has done the heavy fighting,” Raven went on. “You see where this is all headed,  _ bleidd _ , don’t you? Redania and Kaedwen think they only have each other to worry about as they swoop in and pick up the scraps for themselves. But when their armies have fought a couple of hard battles, broken a few besieged cities…”

Logan shook his head. He really didn’t have to hear more. “Then, when everyone else is tired from fighting  _ for fun between brothers _ the Emperor will bring his legions north and finish what he started.”

“In addition to the troops he’s already sent north,” Raven added glumly. “Kaedwen allows help from their so-called allies. But I’d bet, that small number of soldiers will be enough to decide a battle, when they hit the brunt of Kaedwen’s forces in the back at the right moment.”

“Why’re we going to Vergen, then?” Logan leant back. He hated politics. But it was something that, if at all, he’d have to deal with later. Right now, there was nothing to do but to wait until they reached their destination. He could do with the rest.

“Kaedwen wants to take Upper Aedirn back,” Wade ventured. “And we can’t let Vergen fall, can we? If it did, the population would be slaughtered and only the few humans there would be left.”

Logan hummed. He’d seen too many pogroms against non-humans before. Wade was right. He couldn’t let Vergen fall. And neither could Raven.

Even if Erik hadn’t taken Jean and headed there, it had to be their next goal. Too many innocent lives were at stake for Logan to sit on his hands.


	7. On the Way to Loc Muinne

Vergen was a bust. Sure, they’d somehow, by sheer stupid luck and through raw desperation, held the city. They’d beaten back the Kaedweni army and its well armed, well trained soldiers, with cunning civilians fighting for their very life just long enough for Raven and her Scoia’tael to turn the tide of battle for good. Still, so many had been killed in the assault. All that for the fragile independence of a single city, even if it was the rare city in the North that welcomed humans and all sorts of non-humans alike.

The fate of Temeria, of the entire North and its kingdoms, would be decided elsewhere, far from any battle field. When Raven had asked him, Logan had agreed to accompany her to Loc Muinne, where the so called peace talks would be held. They both guessed that they’d find Erik, and thus Jean, there, too. However, getting to him would be nothing more than a consolation prize if they couldn’t stop Redania and Kaedwen from eradicating even more non-humans by dividing and seizing Temeria.

The way to Loc Muinne was long and tedious. They hadn’t taken a ship. They hadn’t even been able to take horses. Raven was leading Logan through valleys and over mountains, all of them infested with harpies. Not even during his training back in Kaer Morhen had Logan been forced to use Aard as much as during the days it took them to walk to Loc Muinne.

Raven was tight lipped during the entire time. The fight for Vergen had taken its toll on her, too, making her gloomy and frustrated. It left Logan with a lot of time to think about what he’d done in Vergen himself. Especially of how, out of desperation, he’d snuck past the Nilfgaardian soldiers into the royal Kaedweni camp. How he’d made it all the way to the Kaedweni king, only to find Emma already there, shaking with rage, as she held the King at knifepoint. He’d heard her out, heard what the King had done to her, and decided he didn’t need to get involved. He had, however, agreed to take the blame. Emma had been thankful, even called him a friend, before she’d cradled his head in her cold, blood stained, hands. It had been agonizing at first. Like water from a burst dam, memories had come rushing back. Of Scott, mostly, and Laura, always prominent, always the center of his world. Of how he’d died. Ever since that encounter with Emma, more and more memories had returned. He used his time on the road to file away all the new, old, information.

In the evenings, when they made camp and shared a slim meal, Raven would talk to him for a while, before he went to sleep as she took the first watch.

~~~

Logan clutched his chest. His heart was thrumming a steady beat against his ribs. His lungs ached for breath. His head spun. It had been a dream, nothing more than a dream. But he remembered the name now. Laura’s father. Laura’s  _ dead  _ father. The one who’d disappeared from his life one day, after long happy years, and who Logan had waited for for so long until he’d given up and given in to the truth that he was likely dead. The father Laura had wailed for over countless days, only adding to Logan’s own grief.

“Who’s Charles?” Raven asked, poking at the embers of their campfire with a stick. “You kept whispering the name. Sorry if I’m… I don’t mean to pry. ‘s just… Not exactly a common name in these parts and... ”

“And what?” Logan pushed his hair back from his face. He could feel cold sweat clinging uncomfortably to his skin all over. Knowing he wouldn’t go back to sleep like this, he got up to his feet and started to stretch.

Raven was still glaring at the embers when she spoke again: “The only Charles I can think of is the Emperor. Was he… he’s your enemy, isn’t he? In the ballads, he tries to take your daughter from you. Again and again.”

“That’s…” Logan paused mid-motion. “Can’t remember. What I do remember is the Charles I knew died. We were...” He shrugged. He didn’t have the words to encompass what Charles had meant to him, what he slowly remembered him to have been to him.

“Oh…” Raven let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry,  _ bleidd _ .”

Logan shook his head. “It was a long time ago,” he sighed. “A lifetime ago. I had forgotten about it. I’ll keep watch. No chance I’ll get any rest the way I am.”

Raven shot him a look full of pity and sympathy, but thankfully didn’t say anything. Instead, she wrapped her coat tighter around her body, settling back against the bare stone and closed her eyes.

Logan spent the night staring into the embers, his head full of new memories of a love long lost. Now, finally, he remembered that one evening, about twenty years ago and miles and miles away, in the Cintrian royal palace when his entire fate had changed forever.

~~~

Charles was sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace when Logan entered his rooms. He looked up briefly before his attention returned to the small bundle in his arm. His daughter, Logan realized. He hadn’t seen Charles with her before, not without a swarm of wet nurses and other servants fluttering around them. The first weeks after her birth he’d been barely able to hold her for even a minute. After all, her birth had cost her mother’s life. And Charles had loved Gabrielle dearly. If Logan hadn’t known that much with certainty before, it was painfully obvious now.

Logan stopped by the mantel to lean against it. Long moments passed while he waited for Charles to say something, anything. Logan sighed. “You called me here?” he asked, when it became obvious that Charles wouldn’t turn his attention away from his daughter’s face.

“I did,” Charles responded. He brushed his thumb over his daughter’s cheek, so careful as if he was afraid she’d vanish if he touched her wrong.

Again, Logan waited for Charles to say something more. Something was wrong, he could feel it. But he wasn’t sure if it was something wrong with Charles’ emotional state or if something greater was at stake. He had to ask. “Why?”

“That’s what I ask myself every day,” Charles whispered.

“Why did you call for me?”

“I have a… request.” Charles swallowed thickly. He leaned over to press a soft kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Not a contract as such. I will provide you with whatever you ask for. Anything.”

“What’s wrong?” Logan pushed himself off the mantle so he could sink to his knees in front of Charles. “What’s wrong, Charles?”

At the mention of his name, Charles’ eyes flickered up briefly. The pain in them took Logan’s breath away. “She’s not safe with me. She won’t be safe with me.” Charles pressed his lips together. “When we first met, you invoked the law of surprise for helping me. You have still not laid claim to your prize.”

Logan’s eyes widened. His eyes were drawn to the small bundle, to the little sleeping Princess in the arms of her father. “I can’t.” His voice was breaking. He couldn’t do that to Charles.

“I am asking.” Charles visibly forced himself to look up. Suddenly, there was steel in his eyes, shutting all the pain in, shutting all his feelings in. “She’ll be safe with you. She’ll be happy with you.”

“She’s the only family you have,” Logan protested.

“Which rather proves my point. She will not be safe with me. I have no other family left.”

Logan grabbed Charles’ free hand. “Nonono, Charles, please, that’s not what I meant. That’s not… you can’t believe that.”

Charles gingerly extracted his hand from Logan’s grip. “I love her. That is why I want you to take her.”

“I don’t even know her name.”

“Laura. Her name’s Laura.”

The Princess stirred at the mention of her name. Tiny hands reached up toward her father who offered one of his fingers for her to grasp. A second, Charles’ carefully crafted façade cracked, raw emotion on his face. Love, fear, a bone deep sadness. Too much emotion even for Charles to settle on a definite expression. He bowed over again, kissing his daughter’s head once more. When he sat up, his daughter was still gripping his hand tight.

“Logan, there is no one else I could ask for this.” Charles’ voice was barely above a whisper. “She’s… she's everything. And you’re the only one I trust.”

Logan closed his eyes. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. Even if he couldn’t feel Charles’ pain as if it were his own. Giving in couldn’t be the only way. But he would take her with him. Because Charles had asked. Because, as frightening as it was, Logan knew that Charles’ words were absolutely true.

“Can’t you come with us?” Logan tried yet. Desperation welled up in his chest unbidden. “I’ll keep her safe. I promise. And I’ll keep you safe as well. If you’d let me…”

“Logan…”

“We could go to Skellige. Nobody’d know you. Or her. I could make some coin hunting sirens. There are enough sirens on the isles to last me a lifetime. And you…” He thought about it for a moment. He couldn’t see Charles as a warrior, not even in his mind’s eye. “You could become one of the druids. I’d never want for potions or concoctions ever again. It wouldn’t be much like life at court, but it would be a life. And you could watch your daughter grow up and be happy yourself. She needs you, Charles. Not me. Not just anyone. You.”

~~~

They crested the final mountain late the next morning. Down far below, the crumbling walls of Loc Muinne stood hard against the clouded sky. The smoke from innumerous campfires rose above the ruins. The entire former city seemed filled with life again, even though the structure itself was barely more than a skeleton.

Raven scoffed under her breath. “Did you know that Loc Muinne was a beautiful city once, when I was young?”

Logan hummed in acknowledgement. He was busy drawing his silver sword against yet another flock of harpies. “Back in the days when there still were elven cities,” he rumbled between stabs at the flying screaming beats.

“Back before humans decided to murder everyone in the city, even babies and the elderly.” There was anger in Raven’s voice, hot and fierce. For an elf as old as her, that part of history was likely a memory rather than something she’d read about like Logan.

“Were you there?” Logan was cautious as he asked, aware of the arrows piercing the eyes of harpies with deadly precision.

“No,” Raven said bitterly. “Although, I tell myself that I wouldn’t have made much of a difference.”

Logan simply grunted in response. It was a good response, considering he didn’t know what to say and was stabbing harpies as they talked. At least Logan thought so. Raven let him get away with it. They continued down the mountain.


	8. Jean's Rescue

“Why is it always sewers,” Logan grumbled as they stalked down a wet tunnel. The sewers of Loc Muinne hadn’t been used regularly for centuries, and some, like this tunnel, still weren’t, but that didn’t keep them from still smelling like a sewer to Logan. Not to mention the necrophage population that was still alive and well down there. “I hate sewers, they’re almost as bad as portals.”

“Hush,” Raven hissed at him. She already had her bow in hand. “I hear someone. People. So, be quiet, _ vatt'ghern _ , lest we lose the element of surprise.”

Logan pressed his lips together in silent protest. He did, however, draw a throwing knife. He could hear the two guards, too. Now that he concentrated on human noises. Leave it to Nilfgaard to put guards even in the sewers. Hadn’t they heard of shoddily bricking up the doors in the cellar and forgetting about it, like normal people? He could already see the shadows made visible in torchlight around the next bend in the tunnel. Raven and he shared a brief look.

The guards fell quietly, before they’d even noticed them.

Logan didn’t ask if Raven was sure they’d find Jean here. She had been sure, she believed in her sources, and, when Logan had snuck to Emma, she’d confirmed it, too. Jean had been taken by Nilfgaardian ambassador as a bargaining chip for the peace talks. They knew, just as much as anyone else, that sorcerers and sorceresses still held considerable political power and hated to see one of their own hurt. It made them look mortal. In addition, Logan’d wager, they were trying to get any information they could out of Jean as the former advisor of the late King William of Temeria. Really, Logan should have thought of that as soon as Erik had taken her. Or at least the hour after, when Raven had told him who Erik was working for.

They stole up the stairs, keeping out of the sparse light of the torches. There were no guards in the cellar. A ladder led up to the ground floor. Raven was notching another arrow, aiming at the trap door above, even while Logan was still climbing the ladder. At the top, he stopped briefly to listen. He couldn’t hear footsteps or voices, but the wood was too thick to make out breathing or heart beats. He had to take the chance.

He swung the trap door open as quietly as he could. The cellar entrance was in a nook below stairs leading up. Badly lit and with plenty of crates and barrels around to provide cover. It looked like the ground floor had been turned into yet more storage. Mostly food, but also weapons and leather, from the smell of it. Logan waved for Raven to come up.

They hid behind some barrels. Now that they didn’t have to listen through floor boards, they could hear more guards making their rounds. Someone was talking in a room nearby. Raven motioned for Logan to listen. From what he could make out, the guard was complaining that they’d to drag a prisoner up to have dinner with the ambassador. A door was opened and Logan and Raven ducked deeper into the shadows.

“ _ I know bloody well that she’s still shackled in dimeritium _ ,” the guard complained in his native tongue. “ _ But that doesn’t make her kind any less dangerous. She kicked Joos in the jewels when he went in to get her. We… _ ” Another door opened and closed, and the guard and his partner were out of hearing range.

Logan and Raven shared another glance. He pointed upstairs, but she shook her head, pointing at the far door. He shrugged. She knew the layout of the mansions in this crumbling city better than he did.

They left through the door Raven had pointed at. All too suddenly, Logan found himself standing in a reasonably well-lit courtyard. He barely had time to register the crossbow pointed at them, before an alarm went up, calling all the guards. Logan cursed as he rolled out of the way of the crossbow bolt. He came up with his sword drawn and ready for the guard slicing at him with a halberd. He caught the swing, pushing the halberd back, then turned to the two guards coming at him with swords. An arrow whizzed by him. He heard a gurgle, but didn’t have time to look around for it. He was weaving and turning between now six enemies, all of them well trained soldiers of a professional army. Even with Raven’s constant barrage of arrows, he only occasionally managed to get a hit in, too busy not to get himself cut into pieces to do much.

The guards lacked a witcher’s stamina, though, just as much as they lacked the speed. It took a while, but eventually, the first man fell, soon followed by another. Then, the guards started to coordinate their attacks, one feigning while another attacked. Logan felt a cut on his arm, but he couldn’t pause, not when they’d almost surrounded him. He spun around, dodging a slice, parrying another thrust. A second to breathe, enough for him to send the other two guards stagger backwards with a quick blast of Aard. He countered another attack from the two guards still standing, but made it over to one of the staggering guards just in time to knock him off his balance for good, ramming his sword in the fallen man’s throat. He had to leave it stuck there, draw a dagger and fend off more attacks, but the three—two, Raven had taken the opportunity for a well placed arrow—remaining guards were faltering.

Logan heard the whistle of a blade cutting through air just in time to roll out of the way. He yanked his sword free before getting back into a fighting stance. Another guard had arrived, this one looming large in his black armor with a sword that was definitely not regulation in it’s enormous size. Still, he swung it easily at Logan again, forcing Logan to back away. Logan tried Aard on this new guard, but it merely made him pause, too solid to be knocked back by the telekinetic blast.

Gripping his sword tighter, Logan decided to take this guard on. Raven could deal with the other two by herself. He ducked under a wide sweep, throwing himself forward at the same time, his sword coming up, but was blocked inches from the guard’s breastplate. He didn’t waste time or energy pushing against the sword. Instead, he jumped back, casting a shield around himself. He dodged again, and again, then kicked up some dirt at the guard, before spinning out of the reach of his opponent’s blade once more. The guard was shaking his head to clear his eyes. Logan sent out another blast of Aard, this time aimed lower, gathering up dust and dirt to hit the guard with. The guard yelled something unflattering as he lifted his sword with both hands, ready to deal a crushing blow. Logan got out of the way in the last second, whirling around with his sword to deal a devastating blow himself.

His sword bounced off the armor on the guards’ neck. The man gurgled, dropping his sword to grasp at his throat. Blood was spilling around an arrow, more than half buried in flesh. Raven smirked at Logan.

He rolled his eyes back at her. Now that there were no more immediate threats, he took the moment to take deep breaths, wiping his sword with a dirty rag, before putting it back in its sheath. A wooden stairway led up to the second story of the mansion the Black Ones were using as their prison. The rooms there were brightly lit. After a quick last survey of the courtyard to make sure they hadn’t missed any guard, Logan began to climb the stairs.

His heart was thumping. He was sure he’d find Jean up there, likely with more guards and the ambassador who was holding her prisoner. He’d missed her so much. He still missed her, even though he was now also missing other people, and some of them more than her. She was still important. Important enough that he’d take on an entire empire to get her back if he had to.

He shouldered the door at the top of the stairway open, his sword already drawn again. The ambassador, a heavyset man in rich, heavy, clothes, had jumped to his feet at the intrusion, knocking over his chair. There were no more guards in the room. Instead, it was dominated by a table laden with food. Candles were burning on both ends, illuminating the plates. Logan blinked. It looked like he’d interrupted a dinner, not an interrogation.

“Uh,” he said dumbly.

“Logan,” Jean cried out. She, too, got up on her feet. When she turned around to face him, he could see the heavy shackles around her wrists. “I knew you’d come.”

The ambassador was still staring at Logan. He rallied bravely after another moment, yelling for his guards.

“Guards ain’t coming,” Logan growled. “Now be a good politician and pass the key to Jean’s shackles and I might let you go.”

The man swallowed. Logan could see him consider his options. They were fairly limited. Logan threw a dagger at the door the ambassador was eyeing to make it even more simple a decision. With a sigh, the man reached into his robes and produced a key which he threw over to Logan.

Logan lowered his sword. “Are you alright?” he asked softly as he undid Jean’s shackles.

She nodded, raising her first free hand to wipe at the corner of her eye. “I knew you’d come,” she repeated. “I always knew you would.” The second the shackles fell from her wrists, she wrapped her arms around Logan’s shoulders. The ambassador used the moment to flee out the room. He got to the topmost step, before he fell. Logan turned briefly to see an arrow sticking from the man’s chest.

“Jean,” he said, and damn it, he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. He hugged her back, tight and brief, before holding her at arms’ length. At her confusion, he explained, “I remember now. I remember Scott.”

“Oh.” Jean pressed her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Logan… I…”

He shook his head. “You could have told me.” There was no accusation in his voice. It hadn’t been bad with Jean. It just… it didn’t work anymore, now that he remembered. “You could have been honest about Laura.”

She at least had the decency to look away. “But she’s gone, Logan. I didn’t want… I didn’t think it would have been a good idea… I’m sorry, Logan.”

“But Scott isn’t,” Logan snapped. He didn’t want to snap. Or he did, because he wanted to be angry, even though he could see it all from her point of view, how she’d tried to get his attention for years in the past and then seizing the opportunity she was presented with. If he’d never remembered, she could have had him. He let go. “I’ll find Scott, when this all is done.”

Jean nodded. She didn’t try to reach out to him. She didn’t even look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Logan,” she said again.

He huffed. There was nothing he could say. He wasn’t ready to accept her apology yet. Maybe in a few weeks, or months, or whenever he’d managed to find Scott. Now that he remembered, there was always a part of his mind wondering about Scott. He knew in his heart of hearts that Scott was still alive and reasonably well. But beyond that, he had no idea, didn’t even know where to start looking. He would figure it out, once Erik had been dealt with.

“C’mon,” he rumbled. “Gotta go before the reinforcements arrive.”

Jean followed him down the stairs. He put a hand on Raven’s shoulder in thanks. They left the same way they’d come, through the sewers, back into the temporary camps of the city.


	9. Meetings in Loc Muinne

At noon the next day, Erik was waiting in the middle of the ruined square behind a gate. It might have been a house once, but now, there was only the sky above. Erik had dragged a crate to sit on to the center. His steel sword lay across his lap, his silver one strapped to his back. He looked Logan straight in the eye.

“Have you come to fight me?”

Logan shook his head. “There’s no point anymore, really.” And that was it, wasn’t it. It didn’t matter anymore who’d been killing kings. It didn‘t matter anymore that he‘d taken Jean.There were winners and losers, even though there hadn’t been a real war. And all the winners had gained thanks to the regicides. So they might cry for punishment, but only to clean their own dirty hands. Annoyed, Logan rubbed a hand across his face. “‘m petty enough to help you escape, even. What a fucking sham.”

“They’ll hunt me,” Erik snorted.

“So? They’ll have a hard time catching up to you. And killing…” Logan shrugged. “If it’s you against soldiers, I wouldn’t bet anything on them.”

Erik picked up his sword. Logan’s hand twitched up to his, only to relax when Erik sheathed his. “Petty. As you said.”

“Politics is fuckery. This is worse.”

That got a smirk from Erik. “No shit, wolf school. So, what now?”

“No more politics?”

“Never again, I learned my lesson. Pinky swear?” Erik held out his pinky with a smile.

Logan snorted. “I’m good. You’ll stay away from people, stay on the Path, and never ever cross me again. Understood?”

“Sure.” Erik rolled his shoulders. “What about my employer?”

“Don’t fuck with him. Raven told me everything. He’s too big for you. Or both of us. Consider this a warning. He’s a danger to everyone.” Logan sighed. “Just, stay away from him. It’s for the best.” Something about Erik’s expression gave him pause. “What?”

“I have one last job from him.” At least Erik had the decency to look sheepish. “It’s just a message for you.  _ The Witcher Logan is welcome to visit Nilfgaard and any of her embassies as he pleases. Room and board shall be provided. _ ” He paused when he noticed Logan’s face darkening. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. Take it up with the Imperial envoy or someone. Whatever you did to earn that, I’m sure you could piss people off enough to make them reconsider.”

Logan glared harder, not that it had ever worked on another witcher. “Half a mind to try right now,” he growled. His fists itched for action, if he was honest with himself. “See if the Black Ones already got the message. And then yell at them until they forget it again.” He bared his teeth. “Let’s see what they’re more afraid of, me or their Emperor.”

“Hate to break it to you, but I’m guessing it’s still their Emperor. Met him. He’s scarier than you, Wolf.” Erik looked entirely too smug for Logan’s liking. “Kinda hot, though, how he knows everything you do and think.”

The withering look Logan shot him did nothing to dissuade the smugness.

“I can see why one’d play the kept witcher of a ruler these days, is all I’m saying.” Erik shrugged. He got up and stretched. “I’d better get going.”

“Yeah, you should,” Logan growled. “Before I change my mind about you.”

Erik nodded. A wave, and then he was vaulting over the far wall. Logan just hoped he’d never have to see the irritating bastard again. Next time, he vowed to himself, he would fight him and if it was just a bar brawl. For now, however, he needed to sort out something more important. He couldn’t have people think he was being paid by the Black Ones. Not when Emma had just cleared his name of one accusation of regicide.

By the time he’d reached the Nilfgaardian encampment, a little way off from all the others, he’d worked up quite some anger. How dare the Emperor use something that looked like a reward to punish him for whatever he’d done to deserve it in the man’s mind. He had no doubt it was a punishment, even if he couldn’t remember what he’d done to earn it. If people in the North heard about it, they’d treat him with even more hostility than they already did. Not a mere useful monster, but a visibly different stranger who was working with or for the enemy.

The guards outside the encampment stood aside when he stomped up to the closed gate. Logan was impressed that he couldn’t detect even a hint of fear on them. The orders had to have been passed out already. Nobody moved to stop him when he pushed open the gate. Inside, he got a few glances, but nobody paid him any more attention than that. He was left free to walk straight to what looked like the envoy’s lodgings, a house that looked mostly intact for the first two of its initially three stories. It screamed important, with yet more guards outside and the flags hanging from the upper story windows. Again, he was let through before he even had to growl at the guards and then he was inside.

The room was dominated by a large table with a map of the continent spread out in the middle of it and documents strewn around it. One of the edges of the map was held down by a cup, the others neatly by engraved weights. The envoy looked up when Logan stepped in, stopping mid-sentence. He motioned at one of his adjutants at an angle Logan couldn’t quite make out. The adjutant left hurriedly for the upper floor.

“Witcher,” the envoy greeted. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Logan had to give it to the man, he didn’t even move a muscle to betray any feeling about Logan whatsoever. “The fuck am I a welcome guest of the Empire now?” Logan growled. There was no point in beating around the bush. He was still furious, and somebody would provide an outlet for it, willingly or not.

“It has been ordered by his Imperial Majesty,” the envoy informed him in a bored, almost monotone voice. “I do not presume to know his Imperial Majesty’s intentions. I merely see to it that his orders are followed.”

Logan growled deep in his chest. One of the younger guards present twitched, which was a small satisfaction. “So’s the Emperor's direct order? What the hell.”

“Indeed.” The envoy sniffled softly. “So you should take your complaints to his Imperial Majesty directly.”

“The Emperor…” Logan’s growl deepened even more. He bared his teeth. “I’m not going to travel all the fucking way to fucking Nilfgaard only to find out what game the bastard’s playing with me now.” He noticed the guards were reaching for their swords. Good. He wouldn’t start a fight, but he would enjoy it.

The envoy was pursing his lips, about to say something, but before he could, there was the smell of ozone followed by the light pop of a portal opening in the room above. Logan dropped his hand. He knew the smell, there was something achingly familiar about the smell of whoever had stepped through the portal. Could it be…? Scott? Could Scott be working with Nilfgaard now? Logan turned to the stairs, ignoring the guards.

There was urgent whispering above. Two sets of steps. The whispering got more insistent as the steps reached the stairs. He could already see the boots on the steps when Logan could make out the first words. “-jesty, please,” the adjutant who’d left hissed. “There’s no need for you…”

The newcomer stopped halfway down the stairs. The adjutant immediately felt silent with a startled little yelp. “What is and isn’t necessary for me to involve myself in is at my own discretion.”

A hush fell over the room. The guards were standing up a little straighter. The envoy turned fully to the stairs, stepping away from the table. Confused, Logan looked around, trying to assess the danger of the changed situation with limited information. He settled on looking straight at the newcomer when he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, the nervous adjutant still on his heels. The man was wearing a travel cloak with the hood up. Logan could get glimpses of a well-tailored, expensive looking doublet under the cloak, as well as black pants.

Their eyes met for a moment. A shudder went down Logan’s spine. Danger, he’d stumbled into grave danger without knowing, Logan realized. Even in the shadow of the hood, the man’s gaze was piercing and solid as steel. Logan couldn’t move a muscle until the gaze shifted away from him over to the envoy, who bowed deeply.

“Rise,” the newcomer ordered. There was no question that it was an order, and one that had to be obeyed at that. His gaze surveyed the guards. “At ease.” The guards relaxed almost imperceptibly. Their focus was still on Logan, ready to skewer him should he do anything stupid.

“Master Witcher,” the man said, his eyes settling on Logan again. “To what do we owe the ...pleasure of your presence?”

“I…” Surprise had deflated Logan’s anger. “Why the fuck am I getting to stay at Nilfgaardian embassies whenever the fuck I want to? I never wanted that. And I never did anything to get it. So what the hell?”

The man immediately rekindled Logan‘s indignation by daring to smirk at him. “Why, it’s a punishment, of course.” Logan found half a dozen blades pointing at him before he’d even realized he’d moved to grab the man by the neck of his clothes. However, after a small gesture from the man, the guards stood down again “Unhand me,” he ordered, pinning Logan with his steely blue gaze.

Logan let go. “The hell,” he muttered. “Weird punishment as they go. I didn’t even do anything.”

“Of course not,” the man huffed. “The Emperor deals out punishments on a whim.”

Logan shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”

That earned him a sigh. “Don’t play dense with me, Logan. It would be an insult to the both of us. A word. In private.” Without another word, and so damn confident Logan wouldn’t hurt him when he turned his back, the man climbed the stairs back up again.

Confused, Logan looked around the room for a cue of what he should do. The guards looked grim, apparently displeased that they didn’t get to fight Logan. The envoy, though, was motioning for Logan to get moving a minute ago and not leave the stranger waiting. It still surprised Logan that none of the guards followed him upstairs.

The room there looked like the envoy’s bedroom. There was a desk with papers on it, a bed and, in a corner, a megascope. The stranger was reading one of the papers on the desk when Logan closed the landing door behind himself. “It is true that you lost your memories,” the stranger said without looking up. His tone was so definite as if he’d observed that the sun had gone up that morning.

“Yeah.” Logan couldn’t find a reason to lie. “Woke up about two years ago, got carted back to Kaer Morhen and… well.” He shrugged.

“You spent the time since trying to uncover who you once were and how to regain your memories,” the stranger summed up. “My spies in Vizima already told me as much. Although, I’m suspecting you haven’t had much success until now.”

“I do remember some things,” Logan protested. Then, his mind caught up with his ears and made him ask, “Your spies? That…” He groaned. “Fucking hell. Fuck. You’re…!” He clenched his fists entirely without meaning to. “How dare you… do you even… you do, don’t you? These past weeks have been so much trouble. They nearly killed me in Temeria because of you! ...all so you could march your troops into the North!” Logan was shaking. And yelling. He was entirely sure that never in his life had he been this close to regicide. Ridding the world of Nilfgaard’s current Emperor would probably count as an act of charity, even.

There was a polite knock at the door, to which the Emperor responded with a “I will call if anyone is needed” before turning his attention—and his gaze—to Logan, “You clearly don’t remember much, if you don’t even remember me,” he sighed. “Try as I might, I’ve never managed to cause you enough trouble to get you into any serious danger of dying. And this time I wasn’t even trying.” He squinted at Logan. “I wanted to talk to you about a delicate matter.”

“No.” Logan crossed his arms in front of his chest.

As if Logan hadn’t said anything, the Emperor went on. “That is, if you remember Laura.”

And suddenly, Logan felt like he’d been punched in the stomach by a rock troll. “Laura?” he croaked. “Is she in danger?”

“When is she ever not,” the Emperor sighed. “That is not to say that I know about any particular danger she’s currently facing. But there have been signs, I’m told. Signs that she might return to this world soon. As the man who’d raised her, I ask of you, should you run into her before I do, to keep her safe.”

“And why would you care?” Logan scoffed. “You’ve always just tried to posses her.”

He’d found thin ice, he realized as the Emperor narrowed his eyes. “I have as much claim to her presence as you do.” A deep breath. “However, considering your condition, the transgression may be forgiven. So, will you do it? Or do I have to resort to threats?”

“For her,” Logan grumbled. He could imagine quite a few effective threats and didn’t like any of them. “And you’ll take back that bullshit about allowing me to stay at your embassies.”

“No.” Logan slowly got a better read on the Emperor’s minuscule changes of expression. He’d somehow managed to displease. A warm sense of satisfaction welled up in his gut. “But I will make sure only the ambassadors know. And do not think for a second that I won’t have you dragged to me by force next time I want to see you if you keep murdering them.”

Logan froze when the Emperor suddenly stepped into his personal space. There was a prickling at the back of his head, a sensation he‘d only ever associated with Emma before. He wasn‘t paralyzed as such, but he could tell already he‘d have difficulties moving. To his relief, the Emperor merely put a hand on his cheek. “Despite everything, I am glad to see you alive and well, Logan.”

What happened after, Logan would spent weeks lying awake at night about. The disgust at, the shock of, feeling the Emperor’s lips on his battling how good it had felt, even though he didn’t know if that was all him and not some magic. His shame that he’d chased his lips as the Emperor pulled away again, quickly putting on an air that made it clear nothing at all had happened. The Emperor’s parting words, before he had allowed Logan to flee the room. “If I could have you again, Logan, without having you resent me for the rest of my life, I would do it in a heartbeat.”


End file.
